


With Kink in Mind, Part 4: Winter

by TuppingLiberty



Series: With Love in Mind [5]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Aftercare, Against a Wall, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Asexuality, Bath Sex, Bathroom Sex, CW: Teeth, Clubbing, Cock Warming, Corset, Daddy Kink, Dentistry, Dom/sub, Explicit Consent, Kink Negotiation, Kink Scene, Kinktober, M/M, Office Sex, Olfactophilia, Rimming, Safe Sane and Consensual, Scent Kink, Seattle, Semi-Public Sex, Shibari, Stripping, Subspace, Sugar-Daddy esque, graysexual character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-13 23:11:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16481555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TuppingLiberty/pseuds/TuppingLiberty
Summary: Sequel to With Love in MindAs Graeme and Alan enter the final stretch of their first year together, and the end of their kink challenge, everything seems to be coming up Webster/Garry.Written for Kinktober, publishes hopefully throughout November.





	1. Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be posting this one as I write it, so if it seems less cohesive, my apologies. I may need to retcon stuff, etc, toward the end.

**The Beginning of December:**

Graeme’s fingers twist together, and he’s chewing his lip again. He makes a conscious decision to stop abusing his lip, picking at the base of his sweatshirt instead. His brain wants to spiral, very very hard it wants to spiral, but his meds won’t let it, and it’s definitely not the most comfortable feeling in the world. It’s like part of his brain keeps running up against a wall that won’t let him panic, but he can still feel the panic trying to skitter under his skin.

“Hey, sweetie, Graeme?” Alan’s hands smooth over his knee.

Graeme jolts, his eyes focusing on Alan crouched in front of him, his raincoat still on and dripping on the floor in front of the couch.

“Bad day?” Alan looks a little relieved to see him come back to awareness, and shrugs out of his jacket, his hand leaving Graeme’s body for the briefest possible moment

“Sorry,” Graeme mumbles, pressing a hand to his face. He’s not exactly sure how long he’d been sitting there, worrying about not worrying about worrying. He hasn’t had an episode like this in over a month, and while it makes perfect sense that it’s happening now, he still hates that it’s happening.

“No need to apologize, Graeme.” The couch depresses, and then Alan is pulling him onto his lap, blanket and all, wrapping it around them both now like they’re in aftercare. “What happened?”

“Nothing— nothing dramatic, or anything.” Graeme traces the lines on Alan’s sweater, burrowing in deeper to his boyfriend. “You ever just have one of those days where everything is just really overwhelming?”

“I have, definitely. And so then I try to tackle everything one at a time. Can we do that here?”

“Maybe.”

“Okay, what’s the first thing that comes to mind?”

“I’m supposed to finish a scarf/hat set for Sam for her friend this week, for Christmas, but I have finals all week and I don’t think I’m going to get done.”

“Have you texted Sam about it? Can she be flexible on the week? You’ll have plenty of time when you’re on break. You’ll probably be bored, you’ll have so much time.”

“That won’t make me seem like a flake?”

“Baby, you’re a college student. She’ll understand, because she was one once, too. Here.” Alan brings Graeme’s phone from the side table to under their blanket cocoon. “Text her now.”

Sighing, Graeme does, though his heart hurts about it. He’d hate to have Sam disappointed in him.

“What’s next on the list?”

“Well, finals.”

“Do you have your study schedule planned out?” Graeme nods. “Can I be helpful in any way?”

“I could— I need to nail a souffle. You could be my taste-tester?”

“Oh, well, I volunteer as tribute, then.”

“I still have to arrange for my winter internship, and I’m out of ideas.”

Alan chews his lip. “I’ll have to think on that one.”

“And—” Graeme’s fingers twist in Alan’s shirt. “And I only have one present for you, and I know you’re going to get me a billion things, and I’m going to feel like such a trashy boy— boyfriend—” Graeme surprises himself with a sob, and his hands immediately fly to his face. “Oh my god, I’m so—sorry!”

Alan’s arms come around him, his hands soothing up and down his back. “Shhh, it’s okay, sweetie. Let it out.”

And just like that, some coil releases inside him, and he does, soaking Alan’s shirt with his tears. It’s minutes before anything is comprehensible again, and he realizes Alan is using tissues to wipe away his tears, and under his nose. “Oh god, sorry, I’m so gross.”

He takes the tissues himself and takes care of it, even as Alan kisses his forehead. “Sometimes, Graeme, we just have to let ourselves break down a little bit.”

Graeme nods, but he’s thoroughly embarrassed, and can’t meet Alan’s eyes.

Alan doesn’t force him to look up; instead, he rests their foreheads together. “The holidays suck, okay? On top of finals and me being busy with the charity event, and everything, on top of all of that, the holidays just suck. And there’s no reason you should ever, ever feel like a trashy boyfriend, not after how amazing the last 9 months of my life have been.”

“Mine too,” Graeme murmurs, voice raspy.

“You know giving you presents is basically my kink, right?”

That forces a laugh out of Graeme. “There’s nothing basic about your kinks, babe.”

“Okay, well. Anyway, I just want to make clear how big a sacrifice I’m about to make.” Now, he does tip Graeme’s chin up so they’re eye-to-eye. “This Christmas, I’m going to give you one present, and you’re going to give me one present, and we’re still going to love each other just as much, if not more, after, okay? My only caveat is that I’m still allowed to give you all the presents I give you on pretty much a daily basis.”

Graeme laughs again, then presses forward for a kiss. “Okay. I can deal with those.” He rests his head on Alan’s shoulder as Alan strokes over his back.

“How do you feel?”

“A little better. I need to go study.” Graeme wipes at his face, only to have his hands pushed away so Alan can do it, more tenderly, and with a bunch of soft kisses.

“I guess I should go make you some brain food, then.”

“Let me guess, quesadillas?”

“If you teach a man to make quesadillas, you eat quesadillas for a lifetime, babe.”

Snorting, Graeme shifts off Alan’s lap and pulls over his notebook with his class notes.

 

**Christmas Day**

“You devious little Slytherin,” Alan accuses, looking down into the now-unwrapped garment box.

Graeme’s cheeks feel like they’re on fire. “We agreed on one gift.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t mention you were going to  _ hand-knit me a sweater. _ That’s above and beyond, dude.” Alan holds up the black sweater with a yellow A in the middle. “Just like Mrs. Weasley would send. She’d be proud of you.”

“If she wasn’t a fictional character,” Graeme says, picking at his pajama pants, unable to deal with how happy Alan is with his gift.

“So? I’m pretty sure the world would be a better place if we all just lived like we’re trying to make Molly Weasley proud of us.”

“Amen. So you like it?” The question is lost in Graeme’s laugh as Alan immediately tugs it over his head. The fit is perfect, something Graeme is extremely pleased with, considering his measurements came from Alan’s clothes and not his actual body.

“It’s perfect. I’m going to wear it all the time. Wear it out, probably, and you’ll have to mend it for me. Oh my god, it’s so fucking soft.” Alan makes sweater paws out of his hands and then rubs the material all over his face, much to Graeme’s amusement. “Okay, I think I’m done having my moment.” He frees a hand and grabs an envelope from under the tree, passing it to Graeme.

“Let me guess, it’s a puppy.”

“Smartass.”

“The very one you know and love.”

Alan leans over, taking Graeme’s face and pulling him in for a long kiss. “You got that right. Open your gift, baby.”

Smiling, incandescently happy, Graeme tears along the top of the envelope and slides the contents out. Reading, his smile falters, but only from shock. Ice skating lessons. “Wh—what? Ally?”

He looks up to meet Alan’s huge girn. “You said you’d never been. And they’ll do hockey stuff with you, too, like learn how to shoot the puck, et cetera. I know you’re going to be busy with your internship, but the rink is between here and Kent, and we can do Sunday practice and then go fill you up with brunch at Sam’s after. Just promise me you won’t get swept away by a hot Canadian hockey coach.”

“Wait, is it a guy? And is he hot and Canadian? Because I can’t make any promises,” Graeme replies, deadpan, then laughing when Alan tackles him to the couch and starts kissing him everywhere.

 

Much later, back from Kent, their bellies full of Christmas ham and pumpkin pie, they lay out on the couch together and watch the lights twinkle on the tree. Graeme’s fingers are playing with his padlock, until Alan stops them by taking his hand and kissing it.

“We’re not that far from a year, you know,” Graeme murmurs.

Alan presses a kiss under his ear. “We’re not that far from the end of kinktober, either.”

“I never— never in my wildest dreams, Alan,” is all Graeme can manage to get through.

“I know, baby. I know. Me neither. I was waiting on you, I guess.”

They sit in the quiet a bit before Graeme pulls out his phone to check the spreadsheet. “Nine more prompts. Three more months. I guess we’re going to have a quick turnover here at the end.”

“Oh, oh no,” Alan replies dryly. He flicks Graeme’s phone to see the next prompt. “Ooo, shibari… what do you think, do you want to try some more bondage?”

“Does the pope shit in the woods?”

Alan’s surprised into a burst of laughter.

“What?” Graeme says with a smirk.  



	2. Shibari

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ringing in the New Year

Time/Prompt date

| 

Prompts

| 

Notes  
  
---|---|---  
  
End of December _(Yoga Studio New Year’s Party!!!! _—_ G)_ / October 23

| 

~~Scars~~ | ~~Master/Slave~~ | **Shibari** | Size Difference

| 

_I’d like to try something specific with the shibari. — A_

  


_What are you thinking? — G_

  


_Darwin and I were talking at the last munch about predicament bondage — and please don’t Google it, you’ll see stuff that’s way more intense than what I’m thinking.  — A_

  


_Basically, I put you in an uncomfortable position — possibly something involving your nipple rings and shibari — and you have to endure it for as long as possible to get a reward. — A_  
  
 

 **Alan:** How are you?

 **Graeme:** Well, I googled it, soooo

Graeme is not surprised when a picture of he and Alan pops up on his phone as Alan’s name appears. He swipes to answer the call. “Yeah, I know you told me not to but you _told me not to,_ how am I supposed to resist? This stuff looks really intense, Alan.”

“Hello to you, too, Graeme.”

“Describe this uncomfortable position? Because some of these women look like they’re really being hurt. This can’t be safe, sane and consensual.” Graeme’s tucked away on the Seattle sidewalk, keeping his voice low as people pass him by.

“I was actually texting to see how you’re feeling about the internship. Not that I don’t want to listen to your concerns, and if you’d rather I distract you with that type of conversation right now, I have some images I’d like to send you of what I’d like to try. I promise, if you’re not 0% apprehensive about it, we won’t do it. Darwin just thought it might be something you’d enjoy, and I agree, but we never, ever have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“Oh. Right.” Graeme deflates a little, feeling a new rush of anxiety work its way through his system. He lets his back rest against the concrete building, feeling some of the chill of the December morning seep in through his wool coat.

“How are you doing, baby?” Alan’s voice is soft, and kind, and it takes everything Graeme has not to beg him to come down and see him off.

He can do this. He’s an adult, dammit, and he can do this by himself.

“It’s rough,” he finally admits. “Lots of little anxiety loops I keep getting caught in. What if Reene decides I’m not worth the time?”

“Then you’ll find another internship.”

Graeme had been so, so proud of himself for asking Reene without help from his advisor or from Alan. He’s still a little worried that Reene only agreed because she knows he’s Tech Genius and No Longer Most Eligible Bachelor Alan Garry's boyfriend. What if she doesn’t actually think he can do it?

He realizes he asked the question aloud when Alan responds with “You believe you can do it, and she’ll believe it.”

He tries to believe it. It’s so fucking hard to believe it.

“Have you left home yet?”

Graeme snorts. “Yeah, I’ve been circling the neighborhood for like, thirty minutes, and I still have another thirty to wait.”

“Because what if there’s traffic or a bus breaks down and you end up being late,” Alan says softly, like he can read Graeme’s mind.

Graeme blushes. “I know I’m fucked up.”

“No, no, baby, not at all, okay? I love you. You just have little things we work around, okay? I’m sorry if I sounded like I was judging you.”

Graeme scrubs over his face with his glove. “No, I’m just being especially neurotic today. You know how it is.”

“Tell me what you’re looping about right now.”

“I’ve been trying to figure out exactly how many minutes early shows I’m responsible, but not a burden if she’s not ready for me.” Graeme sighs audibly. “I sound like a crazy person, am I ever not going to sound like a crazy person?”

“You’re not a crazy person, Graeme. You’re a person under stress. Stress makes us all act how we might not normally act. I’d say 15 minutes. Someone shows up 15 minutes early for their first day at an internship, that sounds like just the perfect amount of time to me, okay?”

Graeme imagines Alan at his desk, fiddling with one of his fidget toys as they talk.  “You said you wanted to send me some pictures?”

He can hear the smile in Alan’s voice now. “Well, since you have 15 minutes…”

 

“It’s kind of a small space, I know. I actually rented out a larger kitchen in order to complete Mr. Garry’s gala order. I don’t normally do that big of an event but I was doing a favor for a friend. Mr. Garry hired him for the facility director position, if you remember?”

“Oh, yeah, Gustavo.” Graeme lets his fingers rest on the cool marble countertop of Reene Singh’s small, professional kitchen.

“Goose and I go back to high school.”

“Well, the food was amazing.”

“The exposure was great, too, although don’t get me wrong, I prefer a paycheck over exposure any day, and Mr. Garry paid very well.” Reene smiles, leaning back against the island in the middle of the kitchen. It’s stainless steel, as is most of the kitchen, except for the marble countertop that Graeme supposes must be used to keep pastry dough cool.

“Ms. Singh, I just want to thank you again for doing this. I know it takes time out of your schedule—”

“One, call me Reene. Two, everyone has to start somewhere. Once upon a time, I was an intern working at one of those big hotels downtown. I agreed to mentor you because I want to pay it forward, and I’ll ask you to do the same in however many years time. Whenever the opportunity arises for you to train some new young thing, I want you to say yes, okay?”

“Of course,” Graeme says with an enthusiastic nod. “So it’s just you?” He surprised, given the amount of people that had been bustling around the kitchen the night of the gala.

“Yes, I’m my only permanent staff member. If I’ve got something bigger, I hire out. Day-to-day, I’m doing specialized menus pretty much exclusively. One to two dinner parties a week. My clients either pay to have their breakfasts, lunches, and dinners delivered by a service or have their assistants pick them up, so at least I don’t have to do the whole ‘run around the city’ part.” As she talks, Reene taps on a tablet, bringing up a list and then showing it to Graeme. “Our menu for today, along with our orders. My clients are all on different meal plans, of course. In general, most of my daily food is vegan — lots of great Indian dishes are, after all, and I like to throw Indian-inspired dishes in as often as possible — with the possibility of adding meat proteins. You name the specialized diet, I’m on top of it.”

Graeme’s eyes widen as he taps through the list. “That’s for the mayor. You make lunch for the mayor every day?”

“Her wife signed her up for it last year. Said she was always eating unhealthy stuff on the go, so it was her anniversary gift.”

“Ms. Singh— I mean, Reene, this is _amazing.”_

She shoots him a grin as he hands the tablet back. “Ready to get started? Breakfast smoothies were already delivered, so it’s time to start on lunch.”

Graeme automatically turns to the sink to start washing his hands. “Just tell me what I can do for you.”

 

He feels like he’s walking on clouds as he strolls from the bus stop to the apartment. He’d stayed with Reene all the way through dinner prep, but somehow manages to have just the perfect timing to see Hendrick pull up in the town car. Grinning ear to ear, he ducks his head in to say hi to Hen before turning to greet Alan with a huge kiss.

He lets out a laugh when Alan swings him off his feet to take the kiss deeper. “Well hello, there, Mr. Webster. Aren’t you looking happy?”

Graeme pulls him inside, nodding at the doorman as they wait for the elevator. “That would be because I finally figured out what I want to be when I grow up, Alan.”

The look of surprised pleasure on Alan’s face is enough to make Graeme feel like he could leap straight over the moon. “Oh?”

Graeme’s grin sets into a more determined look. “I’m going to be Reene Singh.”

 

“Grammy!”

Graeme’s laugh echoes off the bathroom walls, and he turns and holds out his arms for István. “Isti! You look amazing.”

“And so do you.” István wraps him up in his warm arms — he’s dressed to the nines for the yoga studio New Year’s Eve Bash, though Graeme is already down to his play wear. István’s fingers play at the edge of his glittery silver crop top, and brush over his skin. “I hear you’re being put on display tonight.”

Graeme blushes. “Alan and Darwin have something cooked up for me, yeah.”

“Oh god, Darwin is the _master_ at ropes.” István checks, then freshens his red lipstick in the bathroom mirror. “Are you all done in here?” He offers an arm to Graeme.

Graeme takes his proffered arm. “Will you escort me to my boyfriend?”

“I’d be delighted, my young sir,” István says, managing to hold off his snicker until they’re out the door.

The yoga studio is really done up, but it’s still homey and comfortable. There are decorations for the party — somewhere between a munch and an event — and tables set up for food and drink. The owners of the yoga studio have a strict no alcohol policy when it comes to kink, but there are glasses of various other mocktails around. There are a few scenes, mostly bondage sessions where the bottom is left bound, like a piece of art. Graeme’s going to be one of those pieces of art, later.

It takes Graeme and István quite a while to cross the room because they keep being stopped to talk to friends. It jolts Graeme’s heart to realize that, yes, he does have _friends_ here now. Friends that he’s friends with on Facebook and other social media, even. Friends that he’s seen on their knees, massive dildo shoved down their throat, and whose wedding brunch he attended with Alan just a few weeks ago. What a strange, wonderful path his life has turned onto, he thinks with a smile.

“There you are.” Alan’s fingers press possessively against his collar, and he pulls Graeme in for a kiss when he and István finally make it to the small table Alan and Clark have commandeered.

“And now me, HoneyGraeme,” Barbie says, cheating out her cheek as her current play partner, Josie, looks on and laughs.

Graeme pops a kiss on Barbie’s cheek before settling back in Alan’s arms. Alan’s feeling possessive because they’re about to do a scene, Graeme knows. The possessiveness helps Graeme slip a little into his own headspace, part of the warm up for the scene. As they talk and dance with their friends, Alan’s hands are never off of him. Even his drink and food choices are controlled by Alan, as he lets Alan hand feed him small, yummy pastries. Nothing that makes him too full before the scene, but just to feel indulgent.

“Are you ready?” Alan whispers in his ear as Barbie tells an exaggerated story, the punchline of which Graeme is fairly sure is going to be “Josie and the Pussy.”

He’s feeling just a little under, and a lot happy to be with his boyfriend and his friends. He gives a small nod. “I am.”

“Let’s go find Darwin, then.”

Alan’s arm is wrapped possessively around his middle as they move away from the table, asking their friends to come find their scene later.

Darwin gives Graeme a fistbump when he finds them. “I’m so excited to teach you guys some new stuff!”

“We’re excited to learn. Well, I’m excited to learn, and baby boy is excited to show off.”

Graeme nods eagerly, already slipping into his more quiet demeanor for subspace. There’s a few moments of negotiations, where they verify safe words and Alan and Darwin explain, again, what they’re going to do to Graeme, and Graeme gives his consent again.

“Let’s get started with the harness, Alan. Has he done a back arm harness before?” Darwin starts measuring out lengths of smooth, black rope.

“He hasn’t, always front.”

The way they talk around Graeme has him feeling a little weak in the knees, a feeling that doesn’t go away when Alan runs his hands over the skin of Graeme’s midriff. “Ready, baby?”

“Green, Daddy.”

The chaos of the celebration continues around them, although there are a few interested onlookers — Darwin’s demonstrations almost always draw a crowd. It’s hitting all of Graeme’s buttons — being pleasured while he’s ignored, yes, but also the exhibitionism that he feels was his first foray into kink itself. He stands, quietly still, trying not to tremble, as Alan slowly starts undressing him. Once he has Graeme totally naked, Alan kneels, slipping a silver cock ring up and over his balls.

Then Alan and Darwin’s hands are on him, checking in with him frequently for his consent, his feelings. Being cared for by two Doms simultaneously is, Graeme thinks, maybe the best way to ring in the New Year. Darwin is efficient, businesslike, while still talking to Graeme the whole while about how good he’s being for them, how good he looks tied up. Alan’s voice is softer, the love showing through, and his touches linger.

They have him quickly done up in a harness, his hands bound at the back, resting there. It feels more confining than the front harness, and Graeme immediately puts it on his favorites list. Alan uses the harness to pull him closer, to whisper a kiss over his mouth, leaving Graeme wishing for more, using everything at his disposal — his lips just so, his body arching forward, his eyes half-lidded — to tempt his daddy back.

As always, though, Alan has more self-control than Graeme does, and he just smiles, pecking his cheek unsatisfactorily before pushing him slowly down to a kneeling position. They’ve been doing more of this recently, Graeme kneeling for Alan when his anxiety is especially acting up. Graeme’s come to think of it like exercise, and his little white pill, just another part of his routine that keeps him on an even keel.

There’s a pillow on the ground cushioning his legs, and he obediently settles back against his calves, looking expectantly up at his daddy.

He feels a weird sense of distortion, for a moment. He’s pulled from subspace, or maybe pushed deeper? It’s hard to tell, but for a moment, all he thinks about it how _right_ this all feels, when it should maybe feel alien. That he never in a million years would have guessed this would be where he is, coming up on his twenty-second rotation around the sun, and his first anniversary with his boyfriend, his Dom, his daddy, his mate, his life.

He lets out a little noise involuntarily, and the hands touching him, binding his legs in position, falter, then stop. Alan’s face hovers in front of him, cupping his cheeks. “Color, baby?”

Graeme blinks. “Green,” he manages, roughly. “But it’s intense.”

“You are such a good baby boy for me.” Alan tenderly kisses his forehead. “Do we need to change anything? It’s okay that it’s intense, as long as you don’t want to color out. But if you need to use your safeword, it’s okay, baby. You’re still my wonderful baby boy.”

He watches Alan’s eyes, drinking in the feeling there. He’ll tell Alan about it later. He performs a cursory check on himself as he takes a deep breath — none of the bindings hurt, or at least, hurt incorrectly, and that fleeting out-of-body feeling seems to have gone. He gives Alan a little nod. “Green.”

Alan smiles at him, like a ray of sunbeam just for Graeme, and pulls him forward. To meet his lips, Graeme has to give his body weight over to Alan, and he does so with only the slightest hesitation. Alan catches him, holds him steadily, of course he does. As they sink into a kiss together, Graeme can’t help but enjoy the feeling of Alan’s suit against his bare skin.

“That’s lovely,” Darwin murmurs near his ear, giving him a friendly pat on his flank. “Ready, Alan?”

Alan nods, moving around behind Graeme, but never truly leaving his side. Still, the move leaves Graeme exposed to the crowd, most of whom are still milling about, taking in the other subs wrapped in shibari like so many pieces of art at an opening. Barbie, though, is seated in a bean bag nearby, Josie’s hand slid fully up her skirt. Barbie makes eye contact with Graeme and winks, giving him a small smile as she whispers praise in Josie’s ear. Just barely, she lifts her hips lazily, and Graeme can only imagine Josie’s fingers sliding inside her, the motion slow, almost drugged. It clear to see that Barbie is in complete control of the scene, taking her pleasure watching Graeme take his.

Darwin’s expert hands have wound his body up while he’s been staring at the room around him. An intricate pattern of black rope crosses over his skin, but it’s more than aesthetic. He’s bound in the kneeling position, his legs slightly spread, his ass resting on his heels. The binding around his chest highlights his nipples, and the rings glint in the soft light of the yoga studio. The rope loops down around his torso in an intricate series of knots that Darwin had executed while Alan watched. More rope circles his thighs and calves. He is well and truly bound, helpless.

That thought whispers through him frantically until he sees Alan’s face again. No, not helpless, he thinks, as he looks into his Dom’s eyes. _Safe._

He watches Alan intently, eyes only for him now and no others in the room. There are more color checks, but Graeme only responds with half a mind. He’s so fucking good, it almost seems silly to ask. Still, Graeme replies obediently, mostly to see the pride on Alan’s face. God, he could live off of that pride alone.

Alan clips a delicate chain between his nipple rings, a pretty white gold to match the rest of his jewelry. “Hunch over for me, just a little, baby boy.”

The bonds allow him to move just slightly down, and for his good work he gets a kiss on the forehead again.

Alan connects the chain to his cock ring, keeping the tension taut. “Now sit up straight for me, like the proud, beautiful boy you are. Show off Darwin’s work properly.”

The chain goes tight, pulling at his nipples, pebbled and hard and straining. The pain punches into Graeme’s system and he lets out a small, moaning whimper. It burns, burns through him until it settles, just under his skin, making his head float straight away.

As if sensing he needs Alan’s eye contact to continue, Alan brings over one of the chairs brought in for the party and sits, elbows on his knees, watching Graeme work through the pain. “Doing such a good job for me. Everyone in here can see how good you are.”

Everything is Alan’s face. The whole room has pinpointed down to those features he knows so well. His body is — is not really his body anymore. Euphoria washes through him, almost like coming, but it doesn’t seem to peak or crest, just build.

“Really one of your more beautiful ties, Darwin, nice work.” The voice seems warmly cool, like a feigned disinterest. He doesn’t recognize anything beyond the objectification, which makes him tremble with pleasure as he watches Alan’s eyes.

Other voices wash over him — he really is just a piece of art for them to admire now. He tightens his abs, straightening his back even further, not allowing himself to give in to the constant pulling on his nipples.

“Breathe through it, baby,” Alan coaches, pushing back Graeme’s sweaty bangs. “You’re beautiful. You’re so beautiful. Don’t tense your jaw.” His hands sweep over Graeme’s face, working at the knots there.

It’s torture, exquisite torture to try and relax his body without letting himself slump over. He works hard, matching his breaths to the quiet counting Alan is providing. His cock is straining against the ring, his nipples against the chain, his mind against relenting. And Alan’s face is in front of him, looking down on him, counting out for him.

He’s never sure how long he’s under when it comes to this kind of thing. He’s fairly sure he could stay like this happily for hours, though he knows Alan would never put his body in jeopardy that way. But time has tumbled altogether, the party blurring around Graeme until everything shocks back into focus as Alan works the cock ring back down and off, though still holding it in his hand to keep pressure on Graeme’s nipples. Graeme immediately feels a rushing through his system, and he sits up straighter, pulling at his nipples, using the pain to help keep him from coming.

“God, you’re so gorgeous.” Alan’s hand grips at Graeme’s neck. “You get to come at midnight.”

“Yes, sir,” Graeme mumbles, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He has no idea how long from now that is, but he focuses in on Alan’s eyes, and breathes through it, and desperately claws at the edge of sanity.

Finally, the party begins to chant around them, although he only has eyes on Alan’s lips as they murmur, “Ten, nine, eight…”

At "..One," Alan’s fingers twist around Graeme’s cock, and he takes Graeme’s mouth, and Graeme comes. It’s a punch to his system, and he finally lets himself slump over and groan in pleasure into Alan’s kiss. Alan keeps going, pumping his cock and thrusting his tongue in Graeme’s mouth until Graeme is whimpering, trying to lean into Alan’s body and skip straight to the cuddling part already, now that he’s come. The ties hold him back, and he whimpers again.

Alan lifts his fingers, offering Graeme his own cum, and Graeme licks at them eagerly. He straightens to go after it, and feels the tug at his nipples again. It makes him shudder, oversensitive now.

But, Alan, being Alan, is watching him like a hawk, and immediately drops the cock ring, releasing the tension on the chain. “Sorry, baby. We’re done now. You did so good for me. Made me so proud to have you as my sub, Graeme.”

Graeme lets Alan’s praise wash over him as Alan and Darwin work to untie him and work feeling back into body parts. His skin tingles as Alan brushes lotion over it, and then wraps him up in a warm blanket and lifts him into his arms.

“Wait, Daddy,” Graeme says quietly. With a small smile, even though his head is resting on Alan’s shoulder and he’s exhausted, he lifts a hand and calls out gently, “Darwin.”

Darwin looks up from wrapping rope around his arm and smiles back, fist bumping Graeme's proffered hand. “Good work, Graeme.”

“Thanks, Darwin. That was really great. Thank you for what you do.”

“My absolute pleasure, you know.” Darwin shoulder bumps with Alan. “Anytime you want to learn something new, contact me.”

“Thanks, man. We really appreciate it.” Alan gives a small nod, but a large smile, and it makes Graeme dopily happy.

With that, Alan sweeps Graeme away to the aftercare room to really start the new year on the right foot.


	3. Bath/Shower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Graeme gets a minor injury at ice skating practice, Alan has a minor freak out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My goal for nano this year is not a novel, but simply to finish my kinktober prompts.... so here's one down! lol

Time/Prompt date

| 

Prompts

| 

Notes  
  
---|---|---  
  
Mid-January/ October 24

| 

~~Pegging~~ | Leather | Lapdances | **Shower/Bath**

| 

_Shower/bath seems sort of tame for a kink challenge...but also. Yes. Yes Please. — G_

  


_Somehow you make even the tame wild, baby boy. — A_  
  
 

There’s a yell, and then a sickening crunch of body contact, and then the sound of Graeme’s laughter, which is what stops Alan’s panic mode. Mostly. He looks up from his phone and out onto the ice where Graeme is having his ice skating lesson — he’s gotten surprisingly competent in the last few weeks.

Graeme is sprawled on the ice, and his hot Canadian hockey coach is grinning above him, holding out an ungloved hand to help pull him up. Alan remembers his joke about being jealous, but he’s really not. Graeme likes it when he gets just a little growly and possessive, but it’s clear to pretty much any damn person, including himself, that he and Graeme are the real deal.

Graeme’s his rock, and he’s Alan’s, and that’s all that matters, no matter who or what they introduce to their play.

Not that they’re going to be playing with Alexis. Her wife might have some objections to that.

Graeme lets himself be pulled up by Alexis, and shakes out his limbs from the hard fall while giving Alan a thumbs up. Alan shakes his head. He had no idea how rough and tumble Graeme could be. Something, he muses, to explore in play, maybe.

When the lesson is up, Graeme comes skating toward him, pulling off his helmet. His hair is sweaty, going all to curls and plastered against his head. He shakes his head, like he’s in some goddamn Gatorade commercial or something. Equally attractive, maybe even more so, is the face-splitting, beaming grin he’s sporting.

_ Best Christmas present ever,  _ Alan thinks in self-congratulations.

“You look like the intro to every locker room porn people always go on about,” Alan whispers so only Graeme can hear.

Graeme, already pink from exertion, goes a deeper shade of red and whips around to check that Alexis isn’t nearby. She’s skating toward the women’s locker room, a bag of equipment hefted on her shoulder. Graeme slaps at Alan’s ass with one of his hockey gloves. “Naughty.”

“Hey, I didn’t say it was  _ my  _ fantasy.” At Graeme’s mock-hurt look, Alan grins, pulling him in for a kiss and lingering over the sweet smell of sweat, and musk, and Graeme’s happiness. “Okay, so maybe it’s a little bit my fantasy.”

He sits down with Graeme, and starts working on the laces to his skates. He loves little things like this, like being Graeme’s own personal manservant, here for Graeme’s pleasure. His thumbs whisper over Graeme’s sock-covered ankles, squeezing at his calf muscles for a little impromptu massage. It’s only when Graeme groans in pleasure that Alan calls a halt to it and stands, helping his boyfriend up from the bench and pulling him in for another kiss. “Go get changed, sweetheart, brunch is waiting.”

“I think I could eat a whole horse.” Graeme yelps playfully at Alan’s slap on his ass. “I’m going, I’m going!”

Alan packs up Graeme’s gear for him and slings it over his shoulder. He meets Alexis out in the lobby and they exchange small talk. Graeme only has a few more lessons, and they talk about if he should continue on his own, just for fun, or get involved in something more, like a beer league.

When Graeme comes out, he’s looking adorably pink and freshly scrubbed, but limping slightly. Alan frowns, taking his hand as he walks up. Maybe the beer league isn't such a good idea.

“You really think someone would let me play on their team?” Graeme’s voice is all youthful excitement, and Alan wants to groan.

“Only way you’ll know is to try,” Alexis replies, all too reasonably for Alan.

“I mean, that’s a big step.” Alan’s frown continues unabated, picturing Graeme slammed up against the boards of the rink the way he’s seen some of Graeme’s favorite players slam others.

“It could be really fun, though!”

“It’s pretty easy to get involved.” Alexis shoulders her equipment bag and starts walking with them out to the parking lot.

Sensing Graeme’s enthusiasm isn’t going to wane, Alan shuts up, keeping his thoughts about Graeme’s safety to himself.

In the Tesla, headed toward Kent, though, he’s unable to help asking, “Everything okay with your leg? I noticed you were limping earlier.”

Graeme’s fingers come down to his hip, massaging over it. It’s the hip that got so bruised in the accident last year, and Alan’s frown deepens. “Yeah, just a little sore. Falling down is an art that I have yet to master.”

“Sam’s sure to have some ibuprofen or an ice pack at her house if you need to use them.”

Graeme flaps the thought away with his hand. “I’m fine. Just a little sore, like I said. I mean, I’ve had worse.”

There’s a silence that ensues that leaves Alan to ponder if Graeme is referencing the car accident, or the past, or what they do in scenes together. He gets a little sick to his stomach, until Graeme’s hand crawls over to link with his between their seats, and he squeezes Alan’s fingers. “What’s wrong?”

But they’re pulling up to Sam and Rick’s house, and Mike and Linda have pulled up at the same time, so there’s no time to just sit in the car and hash out a conversation. Graeme brings Alan’s knuckles to his lips. “We’re going to talk about whatever this is later, okay? I love you.”

Graeme’s face is awash with anxiety now, and Alan has to pause, and pull Graeme to him, resting their foreheads together. “You’re fine, sweetie. It’s okay. Nothing big.”

Graeme blows out a little sigh of relief. “Okay. Let’s go eat that horse.”

Alan laughs, tipping Graeme’s chin up for a quick kiss across his lips. “Love you, too.”

Brunch is great, and Graeme actually does go through several rounds of pancakes and sausage before leaning back in his chair and declaring he’s done. The carb coma makes him sleepy, and he ends up curled up against Alan’s shoulder as the family talks around them. Alan rests a hand on the back of Graeme’s neck, rubbing just a little, soothing the both of them.

He actually doesn’t wake up until Alan’s buckling him into the Tesla. “Wha— oh, damn.” Graeme reddens. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I just slept through the whole visit.”

Alan sweeps back his bangs and presses a kiss to his forehead. “It’s okay, Graeme. Everyone understood, even if we didn’t totally get how the heck you slept through the twins screaming bloody murder when they forgot how to share a toy.”

“I think I remember dreaming about that.” Graeme rests his head back, smiling at Alan as he slides into the driver’s seat.

It’s when they’re home, getting out of the car in the parking garage, that Graeme groans again, this time more of a grunt of pain, as he tries to move his leg out of the car and stand. Immediately, Alan’s around to his side, pulling Graeme up into his arms and checking his body for injuries.

“It’s just the hip,” Graeme says with another groan, pushing out of Alan’s arms and walking around a bit to loosen it up. “It just got stiff when I was on the couch, and then on the drive...Alan, I’m fine, seriously.”

Alan blinks, trying to let Graeme’s words sink in. Especially the last little bit. He knows he must be making a pretty severe face, given how Graeme is looking at him. In an uneasy silence, they make their way to the elevator.

When Graeme leans against the wall of the elevator with a relieved sigh, Alan bursts out with, “How can you want to get hurt on a regular basis?”

Graeme frowns, folding his arms over his chest. “Are you talking in the bedroom, or on the ice, becaussssse…” He lets the statement hang, making his point.

Alan’s fists ball up in his jacket pockets. “On the ice,” he bites out. “I’ve never done anything in play that hurt you this badly.”

“I’m just  _ stiff,  _ Alan. That’s it. I’m planning on an ice pack, and then probably some time on the treadmill, and I’m sure I’ll be fine. You’re not being rational right now.”

“I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

“Except when you do.” Graeme raises an eyebrow in challenge.

Alan growls internally. “I don’t like seeing you hurt when it’s not for play, then.”

“So, what, because hockey’s a sport and not play, I can’t get hurt? You’re being unreasonable.”

“I’ve seen you obsess over players who get injured, watching their progress on Twitter, checking to see what game they’ll be playing in next. There are some players out there getting serious brain injuries and you just … want to join in on that?”

Graeme leans away from the wall as the elevator dings. “Beer league isn’t the NHL, Alan.” He limps toward their apartment door, leaning down to greet the cats with a groan after he gets it open. “I’m not planning on going to play for the Canucks.”

Graeme’s logic and reasoning is making it harder to hold up Alan’s side of the argument. He shuts the front door, watching Graeme pet both of their fur babies simultaneously. “I just— I just hate seeing you get hurt.”

He sounds defeated, even to himself, and when Graeme glances back up at him, he must see something there. He rises, a flicker of pain crossing over his face, and reaches up to cup Alan’s face in his hands. “What’s this about, really, Ally?”

Alan lets his eyes slip closed. “You don’t— you don’t put what we do in play and what happened to you when you were younger— that’s not — you don’t classify it as the same, do you?”

“Honey, no. No, no no.” Graeme goes up on tiptoes to brush a kiss over his lips. “You don’t hurt me like that. It doesn’t even cross my mind. Just like hurting my hip again doesn’t bother me. Because I did it while I was having fun, and it’s going to heal, because I’m young and breakable but more importantly, easily mendable. I’m not going to end up like Tommy.”

Alan’s stomach flip flops. “I—” He sighs, letting himself take a moment. “I want to say I didn’t mean it like that, but I did, I did. I can’t...lose you.”

“I can’t promise that. I’m sorry. We don’t know what’s going to happen to us.” Graeme gives him a small smile. “You never know. I might get hit by another Uber tomorrow and find a whole new sugar daddy.”

“Not funny,” Alan grumbles, but his lips tip up.

“A little funny, but only that you’d believe it. You’re irreplaceable, Alan Garry.”

“That’s how I feel about you, and that’s why—”

“But you wouldn’t want to close me up in a glass box. I know you wouldn’t because you never have, ever since the beginning. I’m going to get hurt sometimes, and so are you, because that’s what happens. We can treat our bodies with the utmost respect and still pull a muscle. And if it’s for something fun like hockey or kink, well, that’s all the better, isn’t it? Better that than leaning down to pet the cat and throwing out your back.”

Alan lets himself laugh, drawing Graeme closer. “Thanks for not getting too mad at me about this.”

“Oh, well. Thanks for showing me you care by going all gruff Alan on me. It’s hot.” Graeme grins at him, and Alan can’t help but sweep down for a kiss.

Graeme hums into the kiss, a little note of pleasure that makes Alan’s heart swell. “What do you say,” Graeme starts, his fingers playing across Alan’s chest after their lips break apart, “to a little R and R in the bathtub. I think the hot water would do me good, but we wouldn’t want me to get stuck in there again.”

He uses his beautiful gray eyes to a devastating effect, and Alan’s a goner.

“C’mon, Daddy, come take care of your poor, sore boy.”

Alan groans, pulling him back in for another hot kiss before lifting Graeme into his arms. “I’m going to take the best care of you.”

“You always do.” Graeme smiles knowingly up at him, letting his fingers linger over Alan’s lower stomach. “And do you want your baby boy to take care of you?”

This time, Alan holds back his groan. “We’ll see. Here you go, just a little jarring.” As gently as he can, Alan sets Graeme down on the counter and turns to start getting the bath ready. He’s concentrating on water temperature, and epsom salts, picking a scent to fit the mood — he goes with sandalwood and eucalyptus — so it’s not until he turns back around that he notices Graeme has left his spot on the counter to apparently get completely undressed before hopping back up.

He raises his hands like the end of a magic trick. “Ta-da!”

“Naughty.”

“I just knew you’d want to inspect my hip, that’s all,” Graeme says, all innocence.

Shaking his head, but belying the mock frustration by dropping a kiss on Graeme’s brow, he does inspect the hip. There’s a small bruise, nowhere near as bad as the one from the car accident. Something deep inside Alan starts to relax.

“Are you going to kiss it better, Daddy?”

Alan inhales steam and scent before dropping a kiss on Graeme’s shoulder. “Yes, yes I am. I’m going to kiss you all better.”

He kneels before Graeme’s open legs, then looks back up. “You need to make sure the water doesn’t overflow, baby boy. If you let it get too full, there’re going to be consequences.”

Graeme flushes, and nods, his eyes dutifully moving to where the bathtub is still filling.

With that distraction in place, Alan opens up Graeme’s legs further and dives completely in. Graeme’s hole is clean from his shower earlier, and Alan takes no time in licking inside and opening his rim. Graeme’s hands come down into his hair, pulling reflexively as he moans. Alan gets lost inside those sounds, lost in the motion of slowly opening Graeme up.

“Daddeeee— water—” Graeme gasps out, letting go of Alan’s hair.

Alan pulls back and turns to the tub before it can get any higher — it’s just the perfect amount for the both of them. He feels Graeme’s hands on his back, lifting up his t-shirt, and he turns, letting Graeme finish undressing him.

He settles them in the tub, his own back against the cool of the side, and Graeme cradled firmly between his legs. His cock is apparently deciding to show interest, pressing up towards Graeme’s ass like it knows exactly where it wants to be.

And that gives Alan an idea. “How’s your hip feeling?”

“Mmmm, perfect,” Graeme answers, apparently half-asleep, or half-drowned in pleasure already.

“Do you want to keep Daddy’s cock warm?”

That makes Graeme look over his shoulder, his eyes a deep gray, and nod. “If Daddy wants.”

“Hand me the lube?”

Graeme grabs the waterproof lube from the side of the tub and hands it to him. “You sure?”

“I think my dick is up to it, so to speak.”

Graeme snorts, and presses a kiss to his cheek. “Can’t think of anything more comforting than being here, full of you, in the water, letting the aches in my body just drain away.”

“Just relax for me, baby boy. I’ll take care of you.”

He lubes his fingers and works on stretching Graeme out further as Graeme lets his head fall back on Alan’s shoulder. Eager to help, though, Graeme’s hands get busy, pulling Alan’s cock to it’s full erect length and continuing to pump. With a laugh, Alan nips at Graeme’s jawbone. It takes just a few more minutes to move Graeme in the water until Alan’s lubed cock is pressing against his entrance. With dual sighs, Graeme slips down on Alan’s cock, then comes back to rest against Alan’s body.

Alan takes them back again, his back against the side of the tub, and tangles their legs together.

“I could fall asleep like this,” Graeme murmurs, squeezing around Alan’s cock.

“We could try that sometime, you know. What Clark and István do, with the consensual somnophilia.” Alan presses a kiss to his forehead. “You can rest your eyes. I’ll make sure you don’t drown.”

“That’s a big green light on trying somnophilia if you’re up for it. I know it doesn’t happen for you that way, though.”

“Every day with you is a new day for my dick, it seems like. I didn’t think I’d be able to do  _ this _ a few months ago. Not that you’re like, curing my asexuality or anything.”

“Nothing to cure,” Graeme replies, a scowl settling over his face for a moment.

“No, I know. Bad wording.”

Graeme’s fingers find his in the water. “Fair enough. I love you, no matter what. I especially love the way you’re just, like, right on my fucking prostate right now.” Graeme rolls his hips, just a little, until Alan settles them under his hands.

“Shhhh, now. This is R and R, remember?”

“Evil Daddy.”

Alan chuckles, making his dick vibrate in Graeme, who clenches down, making him almost lose it. So maybe they weren’t meant for this type of cock warming. He tries to stay as still as possible until Graeme’s breath evens out.

He’s gentle in his movements as he slowly massages over Graeme’s body, finding the knots from ice skating lessons and working to release them. He lingers at Graeme’s thighs, his fingers sweeping down into the V of his legs, feeling over the coarse hair there. One hand comes around the ribs Graeme fractured in the car accident last year, and he just lets the hand rest there.

He still doesn’t understand his feelings from earlier. They’re still not quite settled, and he knows he’ll have to talk to Clarissa about them. Because the irony is, if he could keep Graeme from ever hurting again, he would. But he’d also never hold Graeme back.

The water is starting to cool, and Alan figures they should probably move on. When he touches Graeme’s cock, slowly encircling it with his fingers, Graeme’s eyes open, and he looks up from Alan’s shoulder. He doesn’t say anything, just keeps watching Alan’s eyes as Alan slowly pumps his cock. He squeezes little gasps and moans from Graeme’s lips, makes Graeme clench down on him again and again.

With a stuttered, “Daddy—”, Graeme comes, shooting into the water. Alan groans himself, the workup and extended play doing enough to let him join Graeme.

Graeme hums, rubbing over his stomach, where Alan’s buried deep inside him. “Love you, Daddy.”

“Love you, baby boy.” He kisses Graeme, long and thorough.

Getting up and out is a process, and they have to go through a shower, too, to wash off various accumulated fluids, but soon enough, Alan has them wrapped head-to-toe in only the softest cotton pajamas. He curls them up in the papasan and holds Graeme closely, finally settling into his own nap.


	4. Olfactophilia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alan's embarrassed by this kink, but Graeme brings him around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and all kink, no plot on this one.

Time/Prompt date

| 

Prompts

| 

Notes  
  
---|---|---  
  
Late January/October 25

| 

Tickling | ~~Scat~~ | ~~Boot Worship~~ | Olfactophilia (Scent)

| 

_So I have a confession… — A_  
  
 

“My dude, why are you looking so bashful? We’ve made it through literally twenty-four sex prompts. We’ve done tickling and hard no’d scat and boot worship, so I can only assume this is about ol— olfa— olfactophilia.” Graeme frowns down at his phone as he sounds out the word. “Scent kink. Whatever.” 

They’re seated at the island, eating a meal they’d both had the time to prepare together that night, and they’re sharing just the tiniest glass of wine, and Graeme is feeling relaxed and fat and happy. Which means he notices when Alan’s not, when Alan clams up and goes bright red. 

“It’s just— I mean. I don’t know. It just seems weirder than some of the other stuff, okay? I just— I mean, we don’t have to bring attention to it. We can just ignore it.” 

“We can,” Graeme says, still frowning. He brings up his hand to play at the wisps of hair on Alan’s neck. “Absolutely we can. I just had hoped that you would trust me with it.” 

“It’s not trust, you know I trust you.” 

Graeme sighs, leaning over to kiss Alan’s shoulder. “It’s okay to admit you like how I smell.”

Alan makes a tortured little noise. “I’ll think about it, okay?”

“Okay. I’m sorry for pressing.” His lips tip up again when Alan brushes that aside, leaning in for another kiss. 

 

It’s when they’re cleaning up the kitchen that Alan leans back against the counter, a towel in his hands. “I do like how you smell, and I know that’s weird.” 

Graeme continues washing the dishes by hand, trying to play it off as coolly as possible. “I’m not going to shame you for it.” 

He makes that tortured sound again. 

“What?” Graeme asks. 

“I mean, you kind of have. When you— when you always used to tell me not to touch you until you’d showered, after getting home from the Burger Joint. Or when you were cutting all those onions for the restaurant.”

Now Graeme pauses, looking over at Alan, who’s still wringing the towel in his hands. He immediately sets the knife he’s washing down, walking over and taking the towel from Alan. “I’m sorry I made you feel that way, honey. I— well. I guess maybe I have, um, the opposite thing going on?” 

“I mean it’s not just when you’re quote-un-quote ‘stinky’. I like you when you’re fresh from the shower, too. Although it’s maybe less sexy? Just...comforting. It’s comforting now.” 

Graeme reaches up to tug at Alan’s beard with his fingers. “Is it something you’d want to play with? I mean, I’m just— I don’t think I’m willing to like, go find a deep fryer and smell like that again just for sex, but the onions weren’t so bad.” 

More tortured noises.

“You really have to tell me where you bottle these sounds up, I’ve never heard them before.” Graeme goes for a teasing poke to Alan’s tummy. 

“You— you don’t have to go cut onions just to turn me on.” 

“But it  _ would _ turn you on?” 

“I— I like the smell. On your skin, specifically. Oh my god, I sound like such a freak.” 

Graeme cups Alan’s face a little more strongly. “And I like my Daddy to hit me with a wooden spoon. Babe, we’ve all got our things.” 

“Yeah, but I also like hitting you with a wooden spoon. This doesn’t overlap.” 

“Why does it need to?”

“You shouldn’t have to do something you’re not going to enjoy!” 

Graeme purses his lips. “I’d enjoy you enjoying it, though. I mean, I assume you’d want to do something about all those pent up sexual feelings, like sex me up or whatever.” 

Alan finally, finally lets a tiny smile creak out. 

“I mean I always enjoy that part.” Graeme wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Let me do this for you.” 

“You’re absolutely sure?” 

“Absolutely. Green. Pass go and collect two hundred dollars. Full steam ahead. Absolutely on board.” 

Now Alan laughs outright. “Well, okay, I suppose, if you insist.” 

Graeme snorts. “So, uh, what smell do you like best on me?” 

Alan goes bright red again. 

“Babe,” Graeme admonishes.

“Okay, in for a penny— okay.” Alan blows out a breath, slow and measured. “Okay, um. When you— when you’ve just come off the rink? You’ve got this smell like — like sweat, yeah, I mean, your gear is pretty heavy, but also like ice and like, um. Happiness.” 

“And then I go wash it off in the locker room. My poor deprived Alan.” 

“I mean, you smell nice all clean, too. Like I said before. Comforting.” 

“But not like, ‘I want to jump his bones’ sexy.” 

“I mean, I’m hardly  _ ever _ at ‘I want to jump his bones’ so like...we might need to reach for a different tier.” 

“Alan.” 

“Okay, yes, fine, I get all...quivery in my stomach when you smell like that. Strangest thing.” Alan looks extremely bashful, and it’s maybe the most adorable thing ever. 

“I can work with stomach quivers.” With a short kiss, Graeme turns back to the sink, then looks over his shoulder, all seduction. “Dry for me?” 

 

Graeme has taken to practicing with some folks on a co-ed beer league team near him about once a week. He’s not trying to fit in games just yet, but he likes dicking around with the other players, making new friends. Strange how his web of acquaintances has gotten so much bigger ever since he met Alan. 

Alan makes it possible for him to do this, to have the spoons to take on new activities. He couldn’t be more grateful. 

It’s with that thought that he practiced this afternoon, because he feels like if he thinks of Alan while he’s playing, maybe Alan will be able to smell it on him. Or Alan will think he can. Whatever. It’s Alan’s thing, and after everything Alan has done for him, he’s more than willing to try a kink he doesn’t share. It's a bit like the love he puts into his knitted work. Except in this case the work is the sweat. But hopefully Alan can tell the love that's gone into it.   


So he feels a little gross in his workout gear, but he makes an excuse about not having enough time to shower, which he uses for Hendrick, and mentally promises he’ll bring Hen and Ceci something really good for dinner next week to make up for Hen’s poor nose. 

His hair is still damp when he gets home, and mostly he just wants to peel off his practice stuff, but he has to seek out Alan first. Alan is, conveniently, already in the bedroom, throwing together laundry, apparently. 

“Hey, honey.” 

Alan turns around with a handful of towels and dumps them in the basket. “Hey! If you want Martha to get your gear clean, go ahead and drop it in here, too.” 

The domesticity of the scene is almost absurd, considering Graeme came home with the mission of seducing his boyfriend. “Uh huh. Will do. Do I get a hug?” 

“Oh, of course, baby, sorry—” Alan grabs him absentmindedly, but the hug and kiss command his full attention. Rarely does Alan give Graeme less than his full attention — when he’s not dealing with tricky code, that is. 

Alan’s arms pause in their hug, and Graeme turns his head, baring his neck for Alan to press his face into. Alan gulps, visibly. “Yeah?” 

“All for you, Daddy.” 

Suddenly, Graeme’s boosted up off the floor, his legs wrapping around Alan’s waist automatically, and then they’re bouncing onto the bed together. “Have to change these sheets anyway,” Alan mutters. 

He works his face into Graeme’s neck and sniffs deeply. “Did you have fun?” 

“Lots of fun. Got all worked up for you.” Graeme’s heart is racing in his chest — for all that he’s not into this, touch is touch and Alan is Alan and his body is responding. 

Alan pulls at his clothes, mouthing across his chest and spending an inordinate amount of time at his armpits. It’s— Alan’s working his way down methodically, like he’s done to Graeme a million times, but now he’s just being more  _ open _ about how much he loves smelling Graeme.

Everything in Graeme goes light. Because  _ that’s _ the outcome he wanted. He will always want Alan to be open, to never hide a part of himself or feel ashamed of himself. And if this is something that Alan likes to experience during sex, well. Graeme’s never going to shame him for it again — even if it was unintentional before. 

Alan moves along his chest, but doesn’t linger. Instead, he hurries to pull Graeme’s pants and underwear off and bury his nose in the crook between Graeme’s thigh and his perineum. He groans, vibrating Graeme’s skin, and yes, Graeme is more than into  _ that. _

Alan begins to lick at the sweat in that area, all around his perineum and balls and— and oh, yeah, that feels good, but it’s also kind of hitting Graeme’s  _ taboo-dirty-kinky-oooo  _ senses, that his daddy likes this, likes how he smells all sweaty for him, likes to lick it up and make him feel good. He can’t contain the moan when Alan gently takes one of his balls in his mouth. 

He wishes there’d been enough time to tie him to the headboard, because all he wants to do is bury his hands in Alan’s hair, except he wants to let Alan go to town, and he wants something grounding him. He compromises by gripping at the sheets and thrusting his hips toward Alan, who grunts, his fingers digging into Graeme’s asscheeks to give him leverage. 

He loves the feeling of Alan’s beard everywhere he’s most sensitive, but especially rubbing against his hole as Alan rims him. Alan is a man on a mission, and Graeme’s not sure he’s ever been brought to the edge this quickly. It seems like mere minutes and he’s coming over Alan’s fist as Alan’s tongue continues to fuck him. Alan takes his cum, using fingers to stuff it inside his hole and then eat it out, which only makes Graeme want to come all over again. 

When he’s apparently had his fill, Alan uses Graeme’s thigh as a pillow, and just lays there, his chest heaving, obviously enjoying the scent of everything. Graeme reaches down, carding through his hair as they both lay quietly. 

“Thank you,” Alan eventually whispers. 

“You are absolutely welcome,” Graeme says with a snort, his voice totally fucked out. “Do you want some reciprocation?” 

“Not right now.” Alan sounds tired, but happy. Extremely happy, kind of like how Graeme sounds sometimes when he’s floating in subspace. 

So Graeme lets him stay there, just stroking through his hair. Eventually, Alan moves back up his body, then pulls him off the bed and carries him into the shower. 

“We don’t have to, right away—” Graeme protests.

“You did this for me, and now I’m going to do this for you. Compromise.” Alan’s voice is warm, and so are his hands as they work soap over Graeme hockey- and sex-sore body. 

And if Graeme uses his evening researching deodorants that mess with his body’s natural smell less, well. Alan doesn’t need to know, he just gets to reap the results. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's almost nothing I like more than writing and reading people trying to make kinks work together when they're not necessarily into it.


	5. Role Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alan and Graeme play a little game of "what if"

Time/Prompt date

| 

Prompts

| 

Notes  
  
---|---|---  
  
Early February/Oct 26

| 

L ~~actation~~ | **Roleplay** | Smiles/Laughter | Toys

| 

_Sweet, Roleplay, what do you want to be? Gnome bard? Human monk? Dwarf Ranger? — A_

  


_*snort* — G_

  


_Go ahead, call me nerd, but you’re the one that got the reference. — A_

  


_I had a group of friends that played when I was in high school but I never did myself. Nerd. — G_

  


_Well idk about you but I’ve already got the smiles and laughter going so all we need to do is add sex. — A_

  


_…._

  


_I am so stupidly in love with you. — G_  
  
 

“Come in.” Alan doesn’t look up from his monitor until he finishes typing the sequence. Glancing over, he’s pleasantly surprised to see Hendrick, with a cloth bag in his hand. “What’s this?”

“This would be a special delivery from the Singh establishment.” Hendrick immediately begins taking out a series of glass containers with snap lids. “Fish tacos. Graeme said there was enough for me, too.” 

Alan stands to pull over one of his guest chairs for Hendrick, suddenly absurdly pleased to get some alone time with one of his good friends, and also tingling just a little inside because of how thoughtful his boyfriend is. “What’s the occasion?” he asks as he pushes the chair in for Hen. 

“I believe there’s a note.” 

Alan finds it, a little scrap of paper buried among the utensils. He unfolds it to smile at Graeme’s neat, loopy handwriting. 

_ Alan —  _

_ Eat this, not a protein bar. _

_ I love you, _

_ G _

He smiles as he folds the note back up carefully and slips it in his pocket. He’d come home hungry last night, having only been able to catch a meal bar between his responsibilities at the Tommy Center (as he’d taken to calling it, mostly just to himself), and here at his company. 

How very like Graeme to make sure it didn’t happen again today. And to enlist Hendrick’s help. 

He squeezes a lime over the chopped cabbage, happily inhaling the scent of properly seasoned fish — the accompanying menu tells Alan it’s mahi mahi. “Jeez, I didn’t realize how nice these lunches were.” 

Hendrick has a mouth full of taco, so he just nods emphatically. Swallowing, he manages, “Graeme shared one with me the other day.” 

“How much do I owe Reene?” 

“I think this might be, like, a gateway lunch? She and Graeme definitely had a gleam in their eyes when they handed it off. Reene even mentioned how you have me, so I can just bring it wherever you are.” Now Hendrick’s eyes are twinkling.

Alan laughs a little as he takes his first bite. He doesn’t blame Reene for looking at her bottom line  _ at all. _ And it’s nice, sweet, that Graeme thought of him. Thinks of him. Makes Alan feel better about never finding Graeme far from his thoughts. 

And then he stops thinking, and starts appreciating the taco, because  _ damn.  _ He lets out a groan at the delightfully soft corn tortilla, the way the fish just flakes apart. There’s some type of zesty mayo-type thing — chipotle aioli, the menu supplies once again — that’s a wonderful counter balance for the crunchiness of the cabbage and onions. He smiles, thinking of his man’s nimble fingers, his competent hands chopping the onion, running the cabbage through the mandolin. Adding just the right touch of seasonings as Reene watches over and corrects him and demonstrates.

He realizes he and Hendrick haven’t said anything to each other for a good five minutes as they both work their way through their tacos. But Hen finishes first, wiping his hands off with a napkin and sitting back in his seat with a satisfied air. 

“So, when are you proposing?” 

Hendrick cackles when Alan jolts. “We’ve only known each other for 11 months,” Alan manages around a mouth of taco. 

Hendrick raises an eyebrow. “And you’re Alan Garry, which means you’ve already been thinking five steps ahead from the start. Are you telling me you haven’t thought about it?” 

Alan thinks about the day collar that’s resting right now under Graeme’s work clothes. The white gold chain and padlock that marks Graeme as  _ his. _

Oh yes, he’s thought about it. 

Hendrick raises his hands. “You know I just want to see all of my kids happy and squared away.” 

Alan blushes, ducking his head. “Hen—” is as far as he gets before he stops himself. 

“And  _ I _ know that I’m a meddlesome old fogey, so I’ll shut up now.” Hendrick reaches over, patting Alan’s hand. 

“It’s just— Graeme’s so young, you know? Like, what if he meets someone different? Someone he likes better?” 

Hendrick snorts at this, which jolts Alan again. “My boy, he thinks you are the sun and the moon and the stars.” He looks pointedly down at the lunch Graeme prepared for them. 

There’s a warm buzzing in Alan’s chest that’s been around ever since he read the note, and Alan finally identifies the source: it’s the feeling he gets when Graeme takes care of  _ him. _ Alan started this relationship being open with Graeme that he likes to take care of people. He just now realizes how much he also enjoys being taken care of. 

Alan wonders if the immortal words of Beyonce extend to all types of jewelry, because Alan certainly likes it, so he put a collar on it, and a pair of nipple rings, too. He snorts, suddenly, and Hendrick laughs, even though he has no idea what Alan’s thinking about. Maybe just relief that things aren’t so serious anymore. 

Alan settles back in his chair. “So, how are the kids, anyway?’

 

Graeme is ensconced on the couch, wrapped up in cats and knitting when Alan opens the front door. He barely breaks stride to take off his winter coat and slide his boots off before he’s slipping down beside Graeme on the couch, waiting for Graeme to protect his knitting, and leaning over to greet Graeme with a long, loving kiss. He pours everything he felt at lunch into it, making Graeme gasp and moan into his lips. The cats jump away for cover, which lets Alan maneuver around so that Graeme is laying on top of him, splayed over his chest, his lips already a little extra pink. 

Alan’s hand sweeps up over Graeme’s fade, pulling him closer again, and they melt into another kiss. For a few more moments, it’s just the silence of the apartment around them as they make out, Graeme’s hands scrabbling over his chest, tweaking his nipples and smoothing over his stomach. Graeme’s making these sweet little sounds that get Alan’s blood moving southward, just like that, and Alan take a handful of Graeme’s pert little ass and squeezes to hear even more. 

Graeme’s hips are moving against his, their cocks brushing between their jeans. Alan can’t help but start to work Graeme out, though it’s hard because damn if he’s moving his other hand from Graeme’s ass. A moment of fumbling between the two of them, though, and Graeme’s free, Alan’s hand engulfing him and giving him a nice long stroke. 

“Wanna feel you,” Graeme murmurs in his ear, his breath hitching as Alan twists his hand. 

Graeme’s own hands work their way down to Alan’s fly, and then they wait there, and Graeme looks Alan in the eye, waiting for consent. 

“Take my cock out.” Alan swears there’s a light of fire in Graeme’s eyes as he eagerly goes to work. It’s a little easier, Alan’s only semi-hard, but soon enough, Graeme’s cock is sliding alongside his, and Graeme’s using a hand to encompass them both. 

“Good idea,” Alan mutters a second before sucking a bruise under the neck of Graeme’s shirt. He mimics Graeme, working their cocks together in unison, their precum making the slide slightly easier. It’s a little rough — it’d be better with lube — but it works, oh god, it works. 

Graeme gets off first, his body tensing and arching against him, like he’s part feline. His hand digs a bruise into Alan’s bicep, but Alan is beyond caring. 

With a sly look, Graeme scoots out of his arms and crawls backwards until he’s nosing at Alan’s cock. He licks a stripe up the side, catching some of his own cum, and Alan’s precum, and humming. Graeme’s mouth slipping over the head of his cock is pure bliss, just as it always is. Graeme’s got the most talented tongue. Alan threads his fingers through Graeme’s bangs and gives just a little pull, not enough to signal he wants Graeme off; just enough to get Graeme’s pain receptors going. 

“So fucking good at that, baby,” Alan murmurs, watching Graeme bob on his cock, his lips red and swollen, his eyes shut in bliss. “Such a good cock sucker.” 

Graeme moans, his still-covered ass raising in the air like he wants to be fucked. He doesn’t leave Alan’s cock, though, and then he does this thing, with his tongue, and his fingers pressing against Alan’s perineum, and Alan can’t hold back, not after everything he’s felt today. 

Graeme swallows it all, the good boy, a happy look on his face as he crawls back up and collapses on Alan’s chest. The whole thing lasted minutes, but they’re both sated to their bones. “Welcome home.” 

“Thank you kindly.” 

“Can I ask about it? Because you’re not exactly Mr. Spontaneous Sex.” 

“My wonderful boyfriend made me lunch, and I guess I was just feeling sentimental all day about it.” 

Graeme blushes prettily, which means Alan has to kiss his cheek and hug him tightly. 

 

After showers, over dinner, Alan realizes Graeme must have been feeling just as introspective as he that day. 

“Do you think we would have ever met if it wasn’t for the car accident?” He looks down at his clam chowder with a little laugh. “I mean, I can’t really imagine you coming into the Burger Joint and realizing that the cute cashier was The One.” 

In all honesty, Alan would have probably pegged Graeme as too young for him, legally, and dismissed it. What he says, though, is, “I’ve never been a fan of people, okay, I’m just going to say it,  _ men, _ taking advantage of people in service positions. Just because they’re required by work to be polite to you doesn’t mean they’re coming on to you. Just let them do their job.” 

“Amen.” Graeme presses a kiss to his shoulder. “It’s weird to think about, then, that this huge, awful thing is what brought us together. Like, that’s a fun story to tell. Whee, I still have PTSD from the first night I met Alan.” 

Alan rests his hand on Graeme’s thigh. “Well… What about other places? Sometimes Krista and folks would drag me out to one of the gay bars for dancing. Ever go to The Anchor?”

“That’s the one that always gets crazy at Seafair Fleet Week, right?” 

“Oh yes.” Graeme and Alan both sigh, and then laugh. “So we could have met on one of those nights.” 

“Mmm, I don’t know, everyone’s looking for Navy cock during Fleet Week.” 

“But it _could_ have happened.” Alan smiles, leaning over to brush a kiss over Graeme’s lips. 

“It could have. Would you have danced with me?” 

“Definitely.” Their voices have gotten progressively lower, their bodies leaning together. For the first time in ages, Alan’s fairly sure he could go another round. The absolute  _ rightness _ of Graeme in his life curls through his gut, making him want, need. 

“I think we found our role play,” Graeme whispers, pushing his bowl away and crawling into Alan’s lap. 

 

Graeme can feel eyes on him as he dances in the crowd. He doesn’t have a partner, not yet. That’s what the purple crop top is meant to do — lure someone in. The booty shorts probably aren’t hurting, either. He’s lost in the beat of the music, but he can feels those eyes caressing his body. He wonders how many people want to fuck him tonight. 

He wonders who he’ll let fuck him tonight. 

A body slides in behind his, tall and strong, and he gives a quick glance over his shoulder — cute, too. He’ll allow it. 

The stranger’s arms encompass him, sliding over his bare stomach and pulling him back to sway together. It’s a perfect fit, the bulge of the stranger’s cock resting right against the cleft of his ass. There’s something comforting about the way the stranger holds him, like he’s keeping him safe from the rest of the club. 

It’s Madonna Night, and the next song — Like a Virgin — comes on to roaring applause. The strong hands never leave his waist as they cycle through Like a Prayer and Vogue. Graeme’s fairly sure he could stay here all night, if his cock wasn’t pressing insistently against his shorts. 

He turns in the stranger’s arms, taking him in fully for the first time. Full, dark beard, pretty brown eyes behind thick-rimmed black glasses. Solid body — strong against him, but not overly muscular. Graeme goes up on tip toes to wrap his arms around the stranger’s neck and whisper in his ear, “Want to get out of here?” 

He doesn’t wait for an answer, just turns on his heel. The way the stranger was grinding against his ass, there’s no way he’s not following Graeme now. 

He doesn’t lead him outside; it’s too cold for a fuck against the alley wall. The bathroom’s going to have to do, and miracle of miracles, it’s empty. 

Mr. Stranger follows behind less than thirty seconds later, and then it’s just the quiet of the bathroom, the thumping of the bass through the walls. 

“You have a condom?” Graeme asks, turning to grip the counter and thrust his ass out. 

The stranger tosses a foil packet and a few packages of lube onto the counter before he’s distracted by running his hands down Graeme’s lower back and over the round cheeks of his ass. Graeme preens, pushing back into his hands. 

“You have the perfect ass.” The stranger sounds mesmerized. 

“I know.” Graeme rips one of the lube packets open with his teeth. “Less talking, more fucking, please.” He hands the lube over, pleased when the stranger finally gets in gear and lowers his booty shorts down past his cheeks, exposing his hole. “Won’t take much.” 

“Oh, aren’t you a needy little thing. Keep yourself nice and open? Need someone to fill you up?” The stranger’s lube-covered fingers press into his hole, going straight to two. The stretch burns a little, but he wasn’t lying — it really won’t take much, not when he fingered himself earlier. 

He blushes, though, at the stranger’s words, his heart galloping. “Need it.” 

“Or maybe you have someone at home that keeps you nice and open, hmm?” The stranger’s fingers twist and scissor inside him, sweeping over his prostate and making his knees buckle. The stranger rescues him though, holding him up with one arm. 

“Daddy,” Graeme whispers. 

“Does your Daddy know you go around fucking strangers?” 

Graeme feels the stranger’s cock — covered in the condom — press against his hole. He turns, looking over his shoulder and meeting the stranger’s eyes. “Daddy likes it.” 

With a groan, the stranger slides in to the hilt, completely filling Graeme and making him moan. It’s fast and rough, Graeme gripping the counter, letting his head fall down as he takes it. The stranger’s fingers dig into his hips — there will be bruises there tomorrow, probably. Daddy will have questions. And then Daddy will fuck him again when he gets answers. 

“You’re so fucking hot,” the stranger mutters, fucking into him harder, if that’s possible. Already Graeme’s being forced up on his tip toes by each thrust, arching his back to better take the stranger. 

Without warning, the stranger’s hand swipes down his cock in one smooth motion, and Graeme screams, coming in an explosion of light and tingles through his whole body. The stranger’s relentless, battering against his prostate as he works up to his own release. Graeme’s only regret is that he won’t feel the stranger’s cum dripping from his hole. 

He shudders when the stranger slips out and almost tenderly pulls his shorts back into place. There’s a wet patch at the front, but Graeme’s got what he came for anyway. 

There’s a small zipping sound, and the swing of the trash can lid — probably the stranger throwing the condom away, and then Graeme’s alone in the bathroom, looking at himself in the mirror. His face is flushed and happy. He looks well and truly fucked. 

On unsteady legs, he pushes out of the bathroom, too, past the line of annoyed people who need to pee. He just smirks, floating along blithely, his stranger having already disappeared into the crowd apparently. 

The outside night air prickles against his skin — he can see his breath — and it clears his head, just a little. He needs to figure out a plan to go home, but he likes this headspace too much to want to leave it, so he ends up just standing outside for a few moments, letting the city lights blur around him. 

“There you are. You’re going to freeze to death.” Alan’s voice is only slightly admonishing as he slips Graeme’s heavy wool peacoat — the one that covers his legs, too — over his shoulders, then pulls Graeme into his warm embrace. “You were so good, baby.” 

Graeme smiles dopily up at his stranger. “You dicked me stupid, so you did a pretty good job too, I’d say.” 

Alan laughs. “Couldn’t resist. Wouldn’t have been able to resist you, the way you move, the way you look in that outfit. If we’d met here, instead.” 

Graeme cuddles farther into Alan’s chest. “I have to admit, I wouldn’t have known, a year ago, that you’re my type. But you are, Alan Garry.” 

With a smile, Alan starts moving them toward the Tesla. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two smut scenes for the price of one!
> 
> This plot bunny woke me up at 4am.


	6. Exhibitionism/Against a Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Graeme surprises Alan for Valentine's Day

Time/Prompt date

| 

Prompts

| 

Notes  
  
---|---|---  
  
Mid-February/Oct. 27

| 

**Exhibitionism/Voyeurism** | ~~Degradation~~ | ~~Gun Play~~ | **Against a wall**

| 

_Against a wall sounds fun — but spontaneous? — G_

  


_And we’ve done exhibitionism — A_

  


_Hey, what are we doing for Valentines? Are we...uh...doing that? Is that a thing we’re going to do as a couple? — G_

  


_I mean sure, why not? — A_

  


_I’ve never done Valentines, as a couple. Just like, getting those chalk hearts from people back in elementary school. And my valentines were always from the dollar store so no candy so no one liked them. — G_

  


_I am going to buy you the biggest box of chocolates imaginable. — A_  
  
Graeme steps off the elevator with his bag of food, his cheeks flushed. Partly because he’s wearing his huge wool coat and it’s too warm to actually wear inside, and partly because of how he’s about to surprise Alan. 

“Hey, August,” Graeme calls out to Mal and Alan’s shared assistant. “Thanks for keeping his schedule clear. He’s inside?” 

“No problem, my dude.” He looks Seattle professional, but August still hasn’t lost that Southern California beach glow, or his way of speaking, that never fails to make Graeme smile. “I’ve got it set to Do Not Disturb for the next hour and a half, as requested. And yes, I witnessed it with my own eyes, the boss man is at his desk.” 

Graeme clutches his coat to himself, but reaches into the bag and passes August a container of baklava. “As promised.” 

“Oh. My. God.” August grabs a fork from his lunch and immediately digs in, then lets his eyes close in bliss. “Oh. My. God,” he repeats, his mouth full. “I’m going to go take a moment with this baklava. Have fun.” 

Graeme watches him walk away, a silly smile gracing his lips. God, it’s so  _ fun _ to feed people! 

And that’s why he’s here. He pushes on to Alan’s office, not bothering to knock before letting himself in. He gets a split second of seeing Alan intensely focused on his computer, his lips slightly frowning, his fingers moving faster than Graeme can track, the rapidly scrolling screen reflected in his glasses. And then he looks up to say hello to whomever is bothering him, and his whole countenance changes. His shoulders relax away from his ears, and his lips turn up into a toothy grin, and his eyes go soft. “Hey, baby. I didn’t know you were dropping by today. I would have met you downstairs.” 

“I wanted to surprise you with lunch.” Graeme sets the bag down on Alan’s desk as Alan moves to pull up a chair. 

“Uh uh, sweetie, I’m not going to need that.” 

Alan pauses, settling back in his seat and raising an eyebrow. “Oh?” Ever a smart man, he moves his hands out of his lap to clear it. 

“Good guess.” Graeme starts to undo the buttons of his coat. “I asked Reene if I could go early, hand deliver your lunch. Take the dinner rush off. It’s not so much of a rush on Valentine’s, anyway. Most of her clients are eating out.” 

Alan pulls him closer by his coat’s sash, and starts working on the buttons himself. “Word choice, baby,” he says with a smirk.

“Oh, I know. I’m just saying. I’m happy to provide dessert.” 

Alan finally gets all of his buttons free, his sash undone, and lets the coat fall open. He sucks in a breath. “I was expecting— but— god, Graeme, you’re  _ gorgeous.”  _

He’s wearing a corset, red with black laces, and matching lace panties. He was too nervous to go all out with stockings, and he’s never worn heels, though Krista’s told him he has the legs to pull them off. No way he was walking into Alan’s office wearing heels. Maybe the red Chucks below look strange now, but he’s not planning on wearing them much longer, anyway. 

Alan pushes the coat off of his shoulders and immediately runs his hands over the boning. “And you’re okay? It’s not cutting off your breathing?” 

Graeme shakes his head, letting himself be pulled down into Alan’s lap. “Krista and István helped me get it just right. ‘Course, they didn’t know I was going to be wearing it to lunch, today.”

Alan’s lips play over his collarbone, then kiss where his collar is resting against his throat. “You look delicious enough to eat.” 

“That’s the goal.” Graeme reaches over, opening one of the glass containers to reveal a raita platter. “Can I feed you, Daddy?”

“Absolutely.” 

Graeme swipes a carrot he’d cut precisely just hours ago through some of the raita he’d mixed himself — following Reene’s recipe. He brings the stick to Alan’s lips, watching as he accepts it, crunching down. 

“I like feeding you,” he murmurs. “I like serving you.” 

Alan groans, cupping the back of his neck and bringing him in close for a kiss. “The office—”

“August got you a clear hour and a half. I locked the door. Mal’s taking your calls.”

“They know you…” Alan looks down at Graeme’s corset. “Um.”

Graeme laughs, absurdly pleased with his Alan. “No, they don’t know I’m in here with the intention to sex you up.” He leans in, back to his whispering, baby boy voice. “The thought that they might know what we’re doing, though.” He takes Alan’s hand, rubbing it over his hard cock in his panties.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” 

“I bought chocolates— and I had a movie night planned—”

Graeme stuffs another carrot in Alan’s mouth mid-sentence, and then laughs at his expression. “I know, sweetie. These are _my_ plans. We can still do those too, okay? I wanted to make sure you felt taken care of, too.” 

In retaliation, Alan pokes a pita chip full of raita at Graeme’s mouth, but he’s smiling, and he’s got that dopey loving look in his eyes that Graeme loves so much, so he knows he’s won. He takes the chip, munching on it slowly.   


“I’m here to do whatever you want, Daddy. I can feed you, or suck your cock, or just sit all pretty on your desk and stroke myself for you, if you want.” 

Alan groans again, pushing the food away and bringing Graeme into a straddle. “You’re so fucking pretty, baby. I kind of want all of the above.” 

Graeme whimpers when Alan’s hands go exploring over his ass. 

“Oh, what do we have here?” Through the lace of the panties, Alan plays with the large plug holding him open, rocking it against Graeme’s rim. 

“Got—” Graeme sucks in a breath as it grazes his prostate, “Got myself all ready for you.” 

“My, you’ve been such a busy little bee getting this all set up, haven’t you?”

Graeme buries his face in Alan’s shoulder as Alan continues to tease him with the plug. “Daddeee…”

Alan gives him a dark chuckle, moving away from the area and continuing to feel Graeme up as they make out. He fists his fingers in Graeme’s hair to pull him back, and Graeme feels himself go deep from just that show of command. “Get on your knees and get me hard.” 

“Yes, Daddy,” Graeme manages as Alan helps him down and maneuvers his coat under Graeme’s knees so they won’t get burned by the industrial carpeting. Not that Graeme would mind overmuch, but Alan generally only likes marks on his boy when he’s put them there. 

Alan unzips his jeans, pulling his cock out of his boxers and feeding it to Graeme’s waiting lips. Graeme loves this too much, probably, worshiping Alan’s cock. By now, he knows exactly what to do to manipulate Alan to hardness, hollowing his cheeks and sucking at his length. Letting his teeth scrape, just a little, so Alan grunts. He might call himself the world’s leading expert in Alan Garry’s dick, and you know, he wouldn’t feel cocky doing so. 

“Fuck, baby, you’re so fucking good at that,” Alan mutters, and Graeme grins even as his mouth is stuffed full. Alan slides him off gently, though, panting as he watches the string of saliva connecting Graeme’s lips to his dick. Graeme knows how he must look, subservient, on his knees, just waiting to be used by Daddy. He’s in a perfect state of bliss, ready for his Daddy, his heart pounding, his mind  _ flying. _

With his hand still in Graeme’s hair, grounding him, providing a little pain along with Graeme’s extreme pleasure, Alan clears away the lunch items for later. Then he’s urging Graeme up with a gentle tug, and setting Graeme on the desk. He stands, towering over Graeme, pushing him back to lay down on the desk, then goes back between Graeme thighs and lowers the lace panties down and off. 

“So wet for me,” Alan murmurs as he slowly strokes Graeme’s cock. “Did you bring lube?” 

“In the lunch bag,” Graeme manages on a rush of breath as Alan continues to torture him. 

“Good boy,” he says, and Graeme  _ preens. _

Alan finds the lube quickly enough, but he doesn’t take the plug out right away. Instead, he rocks the heel of his hand against it, fucking it further into Graeme’s body in a way that has him keening and begging. 

“Please fuck me Daddy, please please please Daddy—” 

Alan smirks, finally pulling at the plug, working the flare back through Graeme’s rim. Graeme feels achingly empty, his hole clenching around nothing, and he whines, but Alan’s fingers are there almost immediately. He wraps Graeme’s bare legs around his hips, hooking Graeme’s Chucks around each other, and slides in in one go. 

They both groan when Alan’s balls rest against Graeme’s entrance. Alan’s so fucking deep in this position, with his legs wrapped around. Alan braces himself on the desk and slowly withdraws, drawing over Graeme’s prostate. He fucks Graeme slowly like that, until Graeme’s practically sobbing on the desk. Alan looks down at Graeme, and then up at something in the office, and then back down, a slow, savage grin spreading across his face. 

“Hang on, baby boy. Hold me tight.” He takes Graeme’s arms and wrap them around his neck, then boosts under Graeme’s ass until he’s up completely off the desk. 

He walks them around the desk, and then Graeme’s back comes up against the wall of Alan’s office. “Against a wall, hmm?” 

“Daddy—” Graeme gasps. Alan feels so much deeper now, and there’s something primal about being fucked this way, against the wall, like his Daddy couldn’t wait for a bed.

His fingers scrabble for purchase on Alan’s back, clutching into his Captain Marvel tee. Alan captures his mouth, biting at his lip and thrusting his tongue inside, and it’s everything,  _ everything. _

Graeme reaches his peak, his cock rubbing against Alan’s stomach as Alan fucks up into him. He cries out, his hands clutching at Alan’s hair, their foreheads resting together. Inside him, Alan pulses once, twice, groaning with satisfaction. 

He could let Graeme down, but he doesn’t, bringing him back to the desk and setting him lovingly down. He pulls out, using his fingers to push back in any cum, then fits the plug to Graeme’s hole and slide it inside again. Graeme twitches as it nudges over his oversensitive prostate, but the thought of his Daddy’s cum all plugged up inside him overrides the sensitivity. 

Alan strips the cum-stained Captain Marvel tee next, tossing it toward his messenger bag.

“I brought a spare. And clothes for me. I thought something like this might happen,” Graeme says quietly, giving Alan a small, tired smile. 

“Later,” Alan murmurs. He busies himself making a picnic blanket out of his winter coat, and a blanket for Graeme out of his own. Efficiently, he bundles Graeme up, grabs the lunch, and pulls them to the floor. He cuddles up behind Graeme, spooning him as he unpacks the lunch again. 

“Ooo, curry.” 

Graeme laughs a little, burrowing back into Alan. His boyfriend is in supreme touchy-feely mode, breaking up a piece of naan and taking over the feeding process. His thigh comes over Graeme’s, capturing him tightly against his chest, and Graeme couldn’t feel safer or more loved. 

Alan’s lips play over Graeme’s sweaty fade as he feeds Graeme. “I love you so much,” he whispers. 

Graeme offers up a piece of naan, dipped in raita. “I love you.” 

“We don’t have much of our hour and a half left.” 

“Enough time to eat.” 

“But not enough time to take a nap, which is what I really want to do right now.” 

Graeme laughs. “True. Guess you’ll just have to wait until you get home. We’ll pig out on chocolate and watch Harry Potter and fall asleep on the couch.” 

“Sounds perfect.” 


	7. Stripping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Graeme has to go to the dentist for the first time in, well, ever. It's not pleasant, but Alan tries to make it better. 
> 
> CW: Lots of talk about teeth stuff in this one. Because it occurred to me while I was at the dentist that Graeme is probably long overdue for a visit.

Time/Prompt date

| 

Prompts

| 

Notes  
  
---|---|---  
  
Late February/ October 28

| 

~~Omorashi~~ | **Stripping/Striptease** | ~~Vore~~ | ~~Humiliation~~

| 

_Rock, paper, scissors? - A_

  


_Oh, I very much want to strip for you, Daddy - G_  
  
Alan’s just slightly dozing, his chin buried in Graeme’s shoulder as he spoons him from behind. They’ve been nibbling on leftovers from lunch all night, and taking pieces from the massive box of chocolates Alan got Graeme. All in all, a pretty great Valentine’s Day with the man he loves.

The man in question reaches out for a chocolate, slipping it between his lips, then moans. Not the good type of moan, so Alan perks more awake with a “Hmm?”

Graeme sets the chocolate down again, half bitten, and rubs at his cheek. “I accidentally chewed the chocolate on the wrong side of my mouth.”

Alan’s brow furrows. “Wrong side…?”

“Sugar hurts this side, and I was being lazy and I forgot.”

“Like, you have a cavity?”

Graeme stiffens underneath him. “Um. Maybe. It just hurts.”

“When was the last time you went to the dentist?”

Graeme remains silent.

“I’m not judging you, baby. Just concerned,” Alan says softly, squeezing Graeme around the middle and pressing a kiss to his neck. “You shouldn’t have to avoid chewing sugary things on one side of your mouth. You deserve to eat pain-free.”

“The dentist is expensive,” Graeme murmurs.

Alan runs his fingers over Graeme’s hip, comforting. “And scary?”

Graeme swallows. “That’s stupid. Who would be scared of the dentist?”

The anxiety in Graeme’s voice nearly breaks Alan’s heart. Alan just waits him out, continuing to rub over his hip and stomach and presses kisses to his skin.

Eventually, Graeme’s fingers thread through his on his hip, and he squeezes their hands together. “What if they have to take out all my teeth?”

“Then I’ll buy you the best implants money can buy.” Glad his silence worked, Alan taps mute on the movie and repositions them so he can see Graeme’s face. “I’m sure it won’t be that bad, though. You have some cavities, you’ll probably need some fillings. When was the last time you went?”

Graeme’s eyes slide away. “I, um, got free cleanings at the dental school sometimes. Sometimes the school would bus us over. I’ve tried, the last few years, to get over to the clinic at least once a year.”

“Have you _never_ been to the dentist?” Alan winces when he doesn’t keep the horror out of his voice.

Fuck, the dentist, while mildly annoying and yeah, a little anxiety producing, is just a fucking- it’s just a fact of life for him. Has been since before he can remember. He still goes to his family dentist down in Kent because he likes that office so much. The idea that Graeme has gone his entire 21 - almost 22 years - without any dentist visits…

He pulls Graeme to him, hugging him, kissing his cheek, and making a mental note to look into making dental work available to the families at the Tommy Center.

“I just figured I’d die, eventually,” Graeme whispers. “You know, with how they say teeth are connected to your health or whatever.”

It takes Alan a few seconds to process that and move along, when all he wants to do is hold Graeme to him and shed a few tears for Graeme’s shitty life.

“You’re not going to _die.”_

“Eventually,” Graeme mutters, but it’s quiet.

“If I help you. Go with you. Walk you through the process. Get you set up with a dentist that’s used to dealing with people with anxiety, who will be gentle, but thorough, would you go?”

“Yeah,” Graeme agrees, almost immediately, which heartens Alan a bit.

“I’ll be with you, every step of the way, I promise.” He slides into a gentle kiss, feeling Graeme’s wild heartbeat beneath his hand. “It’s going to be okay.”

 

That promise weighs heavily on Alan’s heart as, two weeks later, Graeme’s led back behind the door separating the waiting room and the dentist area. They’re going to be putting him under, fully, and doing a deep clean, debridement, and multiple fillings.

Graeme pauses at the door, looking back at Alan like a puppy that’s been told to go away. Alan shoves his hands in his pockets, helpless.

“Can my boyfriend come back, just for the first part?” Graeme asks the hygienist quietly.

“Normally we put a movie on for you to watch while you’re falling asleep, but that would be okay, too.”

Alan’s glad he decided to bring Graeme to his hometown dentist. He’s known the hygienist, Lucy, for at least 15 years. With a small breath of relief, he joins Graeme in following Lucy back, their fingers tangled together, Graeme holding him tightly.

From there it’s a waiting game. He sits and chats with Graeme through the process of chewing the medication that will put him out. He runs his thumb over Graeme’s knuckles as Graeme’s voice gets progressively more slurred, as his eyes droop. When he’s asleep, Alan just sits and watches him for a few moments. There’s something so innocent about Graeme in sleep. Or maybe it’s just Alan’s instincts being pleased his boyfriend is asleep, because thoughts of this appointment have been creating anxiety-filled, sleepless nights for Graeme since they first met with the dentist and scheduled it two weeks ago. His Graeme has dark circles under his eyes, and Alan’s looking forward to all of this initial work being done and behind them.

Despite Graeme’s brushing, and attempts to get a more deep clean at clinics, he does have cavities, and Alan hates thinking about how long they’ve been around. Graeme’s also going to be getting braces, as his two (two! Alan’s so jealous it’s only two!) wisdom teeth managed to grow in the proper direction, but still overcrowded his mouth. And, after a bit of a freak out on Graeme’s part, Alan’s going to be paying for those Invisalign ones rather than full-on braces.

Taking one last look at Graeme’s sleeping form, Alan kisses his hand, lays it gently on his stomach, and goes to tell Lucy Graeme’s asleep.

 

“Alan? Graeme’s almost ready, if you want to come go over the aftercare instructions with the doctor.”

Alan jolts, looking up from his phone, then down at his watch. Amazing how time flies when one is coding. “Got it.”

There’s a brief explanation of pain pills, antibiotics, and mouthwash, and then Alan’s led back to Graeme, who’s standing on wobbly feet, his body mostly being supported by another hygienist. His face lights up when he sees Alan, and he tries to wobble over to him. Alan ends up having to catch Graeme before he falls, face first, to the ground.

“Hey, Ally,” Graeme slurs. “Nothing hurts. That’s weird, huh?”

“He’s probably going to be hungry since he hasn’t eaten since midnight, but I’d stick with soft stuff.”

“Hear that, baby? No steak for you tonight.” Alan laughs when Graeme pouts up at him.

“My feet are soooo heavy.”

Lucy snorts behind them as she helps Alan guide Graeme out to the car. “Don’t let him get on any social media, okay? Lord knows what he’ll post.”

Thankfully, they’re in the car with Hendrick, on the way back to Seattle, before Graeme curls up into Alan’s side, looking pitiful as he mumbles, “Hey daddy?”

Alan winces, not sparing a glance for Hendrick - although Graeme had to have said it loud enough for him to hear. He and Hendrick will just continue their “what happens in the bedroom stays in the bedroom” silence. “Yes, baby?”

"Can we get mashed potatoes? Potatoes. Po-tay-tooooes.” Graeme giggles, repeating the word over and over as if it’s the funniest thing in the world.

“I guess we know what Graeme would be like high now,” Hendrick mutters, loud enough to hear in the back seat.

“Of course I can make potatoes. Here, baby, just rest your head on my shoulder, and close your eyes. I don’t want you getting dizzy and sick.”

Thankfully, Graeme follows his instructions giving Alan enough time to send his dad an emergency text.

    **Alan:** DAD how do I make mashed potatoes?

    **Dad:** How fancy are we talking?

    **Alan:** They’re for Graeme

    **Dad:** So, really fancy then. Do you have any more of that truffle?

    **Alan:** I don’t think so. Should I get that? That was good. What about bacon? No, wait, that might be too rough on his mouth.

    **Dad:** I’m sending you a link. Should be easy, even for you

    **Alan:** Thanks so much.

    **Alan:** The period means sarcasm, btw

    **Dad:** You’re welcome.

Alan makes the mashed potatoes as fast as he can, but he still has to wake Graeme up in order to get him to eat. He draws Graeme into his lap with the huge pile of blankets Graeme had been cuddling, and starts to hand feed his still-high boyfriend some damn fine potatoes, all rich and creamy and truffle-oil-y.

Graeme grimaces at the first spoonful, and Alan’s about to ask if he needs painkillers, when Graeme starts to try and shove his way off of Alan’s lap. “Not right,” Graeme grumbles, stumbling his way to his knees on the couch.

“What’s not right?” Alan asks, trying not to sound devastated. He hadn't thought they’re _that_ bad… “I can add more butter? Or salt?”

Graeme works his way around the couch and towards the kitchen, Alan hot on his heels. Graeme has to do that thing drunk people do, where they clutch at the wall, the chairs, whatever, to make sure they don’t fall down. Alan saves him at least once. Finally, Graeme’s made his way to the still-steaming pot of mashed potatoes, and practically sticks his head inside to sniff it. “Not right,” he mutters again, picking at a piece of red skin with the spoon.

“Feel free to do whatever you want to it-” Alan cuts off when Graeme goes digging in the cupboards.

“A-ha!” Graeme sounds triumphant as he holds a plastic package aloft, which had apparently been secreted on some back shelf, because Alan can swear he’s never seen it before. “This stuff.”

He tosses the package at Alan, who catches it easily, frowning as he reads. “Instant potatoes? Like...the flakes?”

Graeme grips the counter, smiling at him, but looking a little dizzy and peaked. “Can you make it for me?”

“I didn’t even know we had this stuff.”

“‘S the best. What my neighbor used to give me on bad nights. You know.” Tired, apparently, Graeme collapses into one of the island chairs.

Alan peers at the packaging, figuring out how to make it. Turning, he sets water to boil. “Comfort food.”

“The most comfort-y of foods.” Graeme lays his head down on his arms, his eyes slipping closed.

While Alan waits for the water to boil, he comes around the counter, sweeping his fingers through Graeme’s hair. His boyfriend still has dark circles under his eyes, and he looks the most vulnerable in sleep, but the motion of combing through his hair makes Graeme’s lips tip up at the sides.

“I love you.”

“You’re my mashed potatoes. Of people,” Graeme says decisively.

“I’ve always wanted to be the mashed potatoes of people.” Alan feels barely sarcastic, though, and more swamped by feelings as he continues to stroke through Graeme’s hair.

He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised when, a few minutes later, and he has the instant flakes made into something resembling potatoes, that Graeme takes one look at them, smiles, then stumbles to the fridge, pulls out the ketchup, and drowns the whole pan in red stuff.

He shouldn’t be surprised, but he is, his mouth gaping. His fucking food snob of a boyfriend doesn’t even notice, happily tucking into the pot, systematically eating until the whole thing is gone, when he finally stops, with a loud belch.

“‘Scuse, me,” he mutters, looking tired, and Alan has to laugh.

“C’mon, baby. Back to the couch.” Alan lifts Graeme up in his arms, and Graeme koalas around him for the short trip back under the covers. He promptly falls asleep on Alan’s chest.

 

“Oh my god. Oh gross.”

Graeme’s words jolt Alan awake from his own little nap. “Wha’s wrong?”

Graeme’s rubbing at the side of his mouth and looking guiltily down on Alan’s chest. “I drooled on you.”

Sure enough, there’s a little wet patch in the middle of Alan’s shirt, and Graeme is looking adorably guilty. “It’s okay, Graeme, baby. No harm no foul.” He lifts Graeme off of his lap, then works on pulling the shirt over his head and off.

When he sees Graeme’s face again, his eyes are showing definite interest, which makes Alan laugh. “We’re not doing anything right now, baby. You can’t consent like this.”

Graeme pouts, sitting back, burying himself in blankets again. “My mouth hurts, anyway.” He snuggles in more, though, interested eyes still on Alan’s chest. “You could give me a show. Make me feel better.”

Alan is fairly sure that Graeme is sure he looks sly. In reality, Alan sees right through him. “You want me to strip for you?”

Graeme gives an eager nod, pulling the blanket up and over his head and really burying himself deeply.

“You’re so fucking adorable. Okay. One sec.”

Alan gives himself ten seconds in the walk-in closet to laugh at the whole situation. Graeme, still stoned off his gourd, though maybe coming down just a little, wants to watch him strip. Amazing. He wonders if Graeme would want that when he’s sober.

Then again, Graeme has been honest to a fault while drunk. He’d probably love it, and never have the courage to ask, sober.

The inner turmoil and unsuredness is all worth it when Graeme sees him and lets out a cackling laugh. Alan had piled on several extra layers in the closet, just so he can try and give Graeme a really good show.

He starts making those stereotypical porn music sounds, which has Graeme clapping under his blanket. As fake-sexily as possible, he starts to peel off his hoodie, only to reveal a flannel button down - which yes, is making him sweat bullets - and Graeme laughs again.

“Shake it, Daddy!” Graeme encourages, his eyes bright.

The buttons get released one by one, and Alan personally thinks Graeme is way better at the striptease thing, but then again, he’s not sure he’s ever seen Graeme happier than he is right now. At least the flannel is unbuttoned, and he flashes it open to reveal...one of his nerd shirts, this one a big lightning bolt for the Flash.

“It’s like you wanted to play strip poker knowing you really suck at poker,” Graeme says with a little laughing squeak that is quite possibly the most adorable thing Alan’s ever heard come from his lips.

From the shirt, it’s three layers of pants, until finally, Alan’s left with just a pair of gym shorts. He turns, sliding them over his ass cheeks to Graeme’s whooping holler. He bumps and grinds them off, Graeme losing his shit in giggles.

When he’s done, standing awkwardly in front of Graeme, totally nude, Graeme opens his blankets up and beckons Alan inside. “C’mere, Daddy, into the burrito. Graeme-rito. Graeme and Ally-rito.”

Alan snorts, snuggling in, and letting Graeme wrap him up.

Graeme presses a kiss to his cheek, suddenly serious. “I don’t know what I’m going to do when you leave me. I love you too much.”

Alan frowns, holding Graeme close. “I’m not leaving you.”

“Mmm.” Graeme hums, letting his eyes close, avoiding Alan’s stare.

“I’m going to marry you,” Alan whispers, because it’s not like Graeme’s going to remember this in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's winter! Hope the ending wasn't too ominous? It just kind of came out that way, that that's what Graeme would be thinking. 
> 
> We have spring part 2 coming up....eventually. Because grad school is kicking all of my asses. 
> 
> Hey, I don't normally do this, but I'm just super stressed out right now and an encouraging word in the comments that shows up in my email would mean the world to me right now. I love y'all, and if you're in the US, have a good Thanksgiving week! I will hopefully be posting again this week, but we'll see.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Kudos and comments are always appreciated, especially on an original work!
> 
> Please see the tumblr for my original work: https://mhabbott.tumblr.com/  
> Subscribe for news or drop something nice in my inbox. :)


End file.
